The Theft Before Christmas (8 page)

"He's on the top floor. Number 8," Sir Ronald said.

The front door was not locked. Even so, Sir Ronald stood there and rapped at it. He waited a moment, but when no one answered, he opened the door, and the three of them began to mount the stairs. No one questioned their right to be there.

She was rather breathless by the time they reached the top floor. There were two sets of chambers there, and Number 8 was to their right. Sir Ronald knocked upon the door. "I daresay, the man's still asleep," he whispered.

"No need to whisper. It's our desire to wake him." She spoke in an elevated voice.

The second time, Sir Ronald rapped louder. Still, there was no answer.

"The man is either very hard to wake, or he's not here," Jack said.

"Or he's afraid we're creditors, and he's ignoring us." She moved to the door and twisted at the knob. To her surprise, it opened.

Jack swept past her. "I go first."

He didn't have to finish. She knew he meant,
in case there's trouble
. She dropped back and allowed him to enter first, then Sir Ronald came next.

Before her foot crossed the threshold, Jack called out. "Don't let Daphne in!"

She might not yet be in the chamber, but she could see it looked as if a cyclone had torn through there. "My darling, I don't care if it's messy."

Sir Ronald winced noticeably, then whirled back to her, shaking his head. "You cannot go in there."

Her gaze flicked to her incredibly somber husband. "Strickland's been murdered."

Chapter 6

"Do you think Lady Daphne and the captain have gone off to Carlton House this morning?" Miss Huntington asked the colonel.

"I couldn't say." He shook his head in a most morose fashion. "I still cannot credit it. Captain Dryden can't be capable of doing something dishonorable, yet I have complete confidence that a level-headed young woman like you knows what she overheard."

"Where shall we begin?" she asked, her voice forlorn.

While he was truly flattered by the girl's faith in his abilities, he did not like to do anything that might blacken her name. Like riding in his coach with him without a proper chaperone. Yet he could not allow her to be embroiled in whatever it was the Drydens were up to, either. He would not allow her to return to their house.

He felt as long as they just stood there facing one another in the foyer of his house, he was conducting himself in a gentlemanly fashion. Should he ask her to come sit in his morning room? Not to do so might make the poor lady think her presence was not welcome.

He cleared his throat. "Pray, Miss Huntington, why do we not go into the morning room?" Never liking to turn his back on a lady, he waved her in, then followed.

His first image of her sitting in this very room the day before was stamped upon his brain as indelibly as his sainted mother's face. He had been so stricken by her youthfulness and by the fact there was no companion for propriety's sake. She had immediately elicited in him a need to protect her. He not only wanted to protect her physically—as a man should do—but he also wanted to ensure that no scandal ever attached to her name.

She was such an appealing little thing.

In some ways it seemed incomprehensible that their introduction to one another in this chamber had occurred just the previous day. The many hours they had spent in each other's company since bound them like old friends.

When she sat in the same chair in which she had first sat, his breath unaccountably hitched. He came to sit opposite her and was suddenly struck by her. . .loveliness. He had not previously noticed her eyes were as blue as the Aegean. "It's too late for us to follow them, you know," he said.

She nodded. "And London's too vast. It would be like looking for a needle in a haystack."

"Do you have any reason to believe they were going to Carlton House today?"

"Everything I know I've already told you."

"Since we have no idea where they were going, the only thing I know to do is go to Carlton House ourselves. Would you be able to identify Sir Ronald's coach if it were to be waiting near the Regent's house?"

"I think so. It was most definitely a cut above most others, and it looked as if it had just been polished. There wasn't so much as a speck of dust on it."

He sighed. "If it's there, then it would be imperative that we gain admission, which may not be easy. Carlton House is as fortified as Dover Castle."

Her gaze swept over his traveling clothes. "Perhaps if you were in uniform. . ."

He nodded thoughtfully. "I can't very well say I'm there on official business. . ."

"Is there a chance any of the guards might know you?"

"Of course. Many of them have served under me."

"Then you simply project your commanding persona."

What a jewel this lady was. She was possessed of a brain. She did not giggle. And she had full confidence in his capabilities.

He only wished he were worthy of her confidence.

He finally nodded. "On your recommendation, I believe I shall dress in my full dress uniform, but what are we to do with you?"

"Oh, I must come."

"To Carlton House?"

"Yes."

"How would that look?"

"Not as bad as me being here in your house."

The very idea of being alone with this girl he so admired suddenly made him excessively uncomfortable. "I can't very well send you back to the Drydens . . ."

She shook her head. "No. I am far too disturbed, too distrustful of them at present."

"And your parents are so far away. . . How could we possibly explain you coming to Carlton House?"

"A man in command does not have to answer to anyone."

He gave her a long, thoughtful look. "How is it you know so much about the military?"

She shrugged. "Mama says I'm entirely too precocious."

He stood. "Your mother is right."

"Will you dress now?"

"Yes." He started to walk away, then turned back. "Blue is most becoming on you." Why had he blurted out such a stupid observation?

* * *

Daphne heard Sir Ronald's voice. "Don't worry, Dryden. She's just fainted. She'll be fine." It seemed almost as if the words were coming from the bottom of a deep well.

"My wife's not the fainting type."

Jack!
She opened her eyes.

"See, old chap? I told you she'd be all right."

The last thing she remembered was standing at the threshold of Mr. Strickland's chambers. . . and Jack told her he'd been murdered. Like an idiot, she'd gone barreling into the horridly messy room. . . and then she saw all that blood. The very memory of that massive amount of blood had her feeling queasy all over again.

She lifted her head and found herself staring into dear Jack's concerned face. "Did I faint?"

He stroked her cheek tenderly as he nodded. "I was unaware that my brave wife would faint at the sight of blood."

It was no needle prick of blood. It was . . . oh, she couldn’t think of it, or she'd be casting up her accounts. She held up her hand. "Please, no talk of blood. It was vastly disturbing."

Her gaze swept to her surroundings. "Where are we?" They were in a tiny but neat little parlor. Definitely not fine enough for Sir Ronald's extravagant taste. She was lying upon a sofa covered in cheap bombazine.

"We took a chamber at a small hotel near Strickland's in Bloomsbury. Your husband was beside himself with worry when you were so unresponsive, and I thought it best to get you comfortable as quickly as possible."

"I'm ever so sorry to be so much trouble." She gazed at her husband. "Was his throat cut?"

Both men solemnly nodded. "The magistrate came quickly, but of course, there's nothing anyone can do now."

She bolted up. "It must be the work of the duc." Jack had been right from the start to have believed the duc d'Arblier was behind this heinous crime.

“Slashed throats are like his calling card.” Jack  shook his head. "Strickland's death makes it impossible for us to find the Michelangelo before King Carlos comes."

"The duc must have realized that he could no longer manipulate Strickland and didn't trust him not to lead us to the Michelangelo." She looked from Jack to Sir Ronald. "Dear God, there must be something we can do."

From their somber faces, she knew they had been defeated. "But we know Strickland did not leave the chamber with the Michelangelo."

"Can we be sure?" Sir Ronald asked.

Jack turned to him. "He could hardly have concealed it on his person. It was far too large to tuck into his breeches, and all the men there that night—according to the Regent—were dressed in court dress, so it was definitely breeches. And besides, every person in that chamber was thoroughly checked before they were permitted to leave."

Sir Ronald's face brightened. "And the women were in court dress, too?"

"I'd already asked that question," Daphne said. "All the women were dressed in the current fashion."

His face fell. "Then I daresay there was no way any of them could have concealed the Madonna and Child."

"And we tried to determine if there was some place in the Regent's saloon where the Michelangelo could have been concealed when Miss Wilson provided her diversion," Daphne said. "But we found nothing."

Jack sighed. "We shall have to return to Carlton House. There must be something we've overlooked." His soft gaze brushed over her like the whisper of a kiss. "Do you feel well enough to come, love?"

His current state of husbandly concern reminded her of how wonderful he'd been on their aborted honeymoon when she had become so wretchedly sick on the channel crossing. Both directions.

Everyone, including her very own husband, had difficulty believing a strong-willed, capable, otherwise healthy woman like Lord Sidworth's firstborn daughter could possibly have a weak stomach.

Her dearest Jack was given to thinking a terrible malady had stricken her each time her belly betrayed her steadfastness.

"I could do a Highland fling." She got to her feet and twirled around. Which wasn't such a good idea after all. Her stomach was still a bit unsettled. She supposed it was because she couldn't quite suppress the vision of all that blood. No matter how much she tried.

"A walk on your own two feet will be most satisfactory, my vixen. I don't want to have to carry you up three flights of stairs again."

* * *

Even without being presented with a royal summons, the soldiers easily recognized Jack and Sir Ronald and admitted them to Carlton House.

"His Royal Highness is in the Blue Room," a nice looking Life Guard told them when they reached the staircase. That was the room where Jack had first become acquainted with the Prince Regent.

Jack turned to his wife. "I'm thankful I don't have to lug you up all those stairs." Then the three of them began to mount one of a pair of symmetrical curving staircases that dominated the opulent entry hall.

In the Blue Room, more than twenty people were assembled, and the Regent was actually strolling around the chamber talking to them. Jack was a bit surprised because the man was so famously indolent that he seldom allowed his legs to carry him.

When he saw Jack, a smile and a quirk of his brow brightened his face. "My dear Captain, may I hope you've brought me good news?"

Jack's expression fell, and he solemnly shook his head as he bowed to the monarch. "I beg a private word with your majesty."

"Yes, of course." It was then that the Regent saw Sir Ronald and offered him a nod as the baronet and Daphne bowed and curtseyed respectively. "Sir Ronald, I am not accustomed to seeing you without Lord Castlereagh." When the Regent's glance flicked to Daphne, he smiled and nodded. "But now I remember that you're married to one of Lady Daphne's sisters. I supposed the Drydens must have told you about this wretched theft?"

Sir Ronald nodded.

"We found Strickland," Jack said, his face grim. "Murdered. His throat had been cut."

The Regent winced. "Dear God, he must have been the one who took it!"

Daphne's brows lowered. "But did you not say you would swear that no one was permitted to leave that chamber until it was determined they could not be concealing the Michelangelo?"

The Regent nodded. "That's true."

"It may be a silly hunch," Daphne said, "but we'd like to search the saloon one more time."

The Regent's gaze spun to the group of visitors. "I cannot leave just now, but I shall have my secretary take you to the room."

When they got there, Daphne stood in the center of the chamber, nodding solemnly. "I feel it in my bones. The Madonna and Child are somewhere in this room."

Jack nodded. "But where?"

Sir Ronald went first to the thick walls surrounding each of the tall windows and looked for a hidden compartment.

Daphne once more searched the ornamental palace cabinet and began opening each of its doors and poking her head deep in the interior. When she found nothing, she dropped to her hands and knees and began crawling along the fine Aubusson carpets, tapping at the wooden floors beneath. "Come and help me, Jack. There's a lot of floor to cover."

Jack just stood there. Thinking. He was almost certain the duc d'Arblier was responsible for the theft. And the duc had unlimited financial resources. He certainly did not need the money. Then. . .? His whole purpose in this crime was to make King Carlos believe the Regent thought so little of the stunning gift that he'd sold it.

The duc must be hoping King Carlos would be so outraged he might join forces with the French.

So. . . if the duc's aim wasn't the value of the Michelangelo, it seemed perfectly logical to Jack that knowing how difficult it would be to get the Madonna and Child out of Carlton House, the duc merely had Strickland hide it. But where?

Jack turned to the Regent's secretary. "Would you know if any items in this chamber are new?"

The man nodded. "As a matter of fact, the new harpsichord was purchased just a month ago. The Regent is excessively fond of music."

Jack and Daphne both flew to the instrument. It was perhaps the largest harpsichord Jack had ever seen. From keyboard to the curving rear must cover a span of twelve feet or more. The rosewood it was constructed of was so highly polished, it reflected the Romney painting hanging above it. Jack lifted the top, but there was no place inside where the Michelangelo could be concealed.